Spraypainted
by tiniestTimaeus
Summary: Influenced by dreams, the world became his personal canvas. He just didn't think he'd have to start sharing it when 'The Corporal' wiggled his way into his life.
1. Prologue

The dreams started when he turned 15. They were unpleasant to say the least, streaks of red and silver burning across his closed lids - Large, monsterous creatures whose very cries shook the ground, devastating entire buildings he vaguely recongnized. The whirring of strange machines filled his ears just before he woke up, muscles jostling uncomfortably as he sat up.

Eren was panting, forcing the air into his lungs as tears sprung in his eyes. The world spun in a dizzy haze long enough that he hadn't noticed the click of the doorknob. Mikasa stood in the doorway, a plate of scrambled egg's in her hand.

"Eren, why are you crying?" Eren turned his head fully just in time to see her surging forward, plate left on his dresser. She lowered herself on the foot of his bed, eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Did something happen?" Eren laughed it off as soon as his stomach growled, waving his arm that felt too light to be there. He threw off the crumpled sheets in a rush, reaching over for the scrambled eggs.

The following night came clearer in perspective- Sharp lines and dots of gore. The screams of the dying were louder, and the monsters seemed to tower over him in meters. He quivered in their presense, fearing for his life. He woke up with his fingers squeezing for triggers that weren't there, instead a pen. It was then he knew what these dreams were. Inspiration.

He hurriedly stumbled from his bed, limbs tangled in the sheets. His eyes trailed over the glowing red symbols displaying a shocking '2:30 am'. He sat down at his desk and yanked his sketchbook from the dresser drawer. He began scribbling messily, desperate to get the dark images down before they vanished from his mind entirely.

He had filled 13 pages with the insanity he called art, pressing his thumb to the paper to smear ink and create bigger splatters of dark ooze. By the time he was finished, the clock flashed '6:47 am'. His legs twitched uncomfortably and he convinced himself a walk would do him some good.

He got up and threw on some lazy day clothing, consisting of a light grey sweatshirt and some black jeans that left way too much space around his ankles. He was a bit clumsy with tying the laces of his tennis shoes, not even bothering to fix the part in his hair.

He left the apartment without even addressing Mikasa, who stood in their little kitchenette with a pan in her hand. The steps felt solid under his feet, something his dream never supplies. He landed on the asphalt with a hop, the chill morning air leaving his lips dry, ears red, and fingers numb.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and started walking along the road, drawn to the blank spaces that seemed to surround him in the too-stiffling city. He wrinkled his nose at someones attempt at a tag- messily scrawled white writing with yellow blotches covering where each letter ended. A few more moments of staring and his eyes flashed with interest.

He crossed the street to a particularly lonely wall, flattening his palms against the grainy surface and dragging his hands down to size it up. He stepped back and pulled out his phone to take a long anticipated photo of his new work space, mouth tingling as he briefly licked his frost-bitten lips.

He returned home with a new unpaying occupation- becoming a street artist.

It was hard work at first, picking out specific materials and colors and trying to put his art into intelligable meaning. He returned to his untouched canvas a week later, a red bandana with slanted teeth penciled in strung across his jaw to cover half of his face.

His hoodie was pulled up, eyes shaded as he mapped out stencils and lines. Spraypaint came next, each movement fluid until he got into the scarlet paint. He splattered it, reddening the dark image gloriously until it was one of the monsters from his dreams with an ever-growing grin. His hair was short and uncolored, blood staining his teeth and a half-eaten woman curled between his fingers.

It was terrifying indeed, he realized, teal gaze flickering over every minor detail until his stomach clenched. He began gathering his things in a rush, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He opened the apartment door hard enough for the doorknob to slam into the wall and Mikasa looked at him from the tv.

All she saw was Eren, covered in black in red from head to toe, a duffel thrown over his shoulder half-assedly. She looked stricken, nimble fingers snatching the remote so she could put the TV on mute.

"Eren?" Her voice was quiet and uncertain. Eren decided he hated it. With an awkward huff, he threw his bag behind the couch and slouched beside Mikasa. He tucked his finger over the edge of his bandana and tugged it down so it hung loosely around his neck.

"Mornin'."

"Eren, it's 2 in the afternoon."

"Really? I didn't notice."

"Probably because you left 4 hours ago without stealing a glance at the clock and effectively leaving me worried sick."

"Ah."


	2. The Corporal

It was too vivid, too real. Cries of agony were lodged in his throat as he stared at his arms, stained with red. He rubbed furiously, further irritating the skin until it donned on him it was only paint. He blinked tiredly, soothing his arms with gentle touches. He jutted out his lip in a frustrated pout, only then swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

He ran a hand through his hair, searching through his closet for his hoodie and jeans. Both were smeared messily with paint of varying colors. He tugged them on and searched through his growing pile of dirty clothes for his bandana. He tied it on in silence, scavaging for spare supplies.

As soon as he stepped out of his room, Mikasa was there.

"I know what you've been doing."

_Fuck._

"And I want in."

_Wait, what?_

"Wait- Mikasa, no! What the hell would you do anyways?"

"I would help."

_Oh, she's got to be fucking kidding._

"And Armin's coming along."

_Oh my god._

And that's exactly how he ended up here, under a stone stairway with a beautifully blank cement wall. Armin stood off to the side with his hands clasped together, warily gazing around and standing watch. Mikasa was shaking up cans for him, snatching up his sketchbook before he could protest and flipping through the worn pages.

"The Corporal would tear your ass over these," She spoke, eyebrows raised.

"Who?" He sounded baffled, bent over the duffel with a large white board in his hand.

"The one guy with really clean lines? I heard he uses a paintbrush when he does careful work and that he's a total neat-freak."

"Oh, him? I've seen his work around town, but a paintbrush? That would take hours to complete a whole piece."

"I shit you not, he spends whole nights on a single signature."

Eren wrinkled his nose in disbelief and started setting up strips of the board. He taped the corners up, humming thankfully when Mikasa tossed him the black can. He tapped his finger on the nozzle, dragging his hand up to trace the curved frame. He pulled his arm back to look over his work and motioned for the silver paint.

Gladly, Mikasa put it in his hand. He kneeled and filled in the rectagular shapes, pressing his sleeve down to run the black over the center and creating harsh lines. The brown came next- A boots, Mikasa mused.

It was two and a half hours later before he was pulling the strips down to reveal what he had created beneath. It was a faceless figure in strange clothing and metal boxes hanging at their sides. There hands held onto trigger handles, long blades extending forward to seem long and seamless thanks to Eren's perspective abilities.

The entire thing was 178 cm, but half the person it should be. The right half dissolving into maroon disarray. He raised an arm to wipe the sweet off his brow, satisfied with his work.

Then an abrupt shout inturrupted his peace.

"Cops!" It was Armin, fingers in his hair and expression horrified. Eren was only now hearing the sirens and he quickly put his stuff away. Thanks to Mikasa, they were jogging down the alley in record time. The bandana made it annoyingly hard the breathe, but there was no way he was taking a chance with the surrounding sirens still fresh in his ears.

He took a sharp turn, sneakers skidding across concrete and causing him to slip backwards a few inches. He propelled himself forward right after, duffel only slightly weighing him down.

Reaching their apartment door was a relief and he nearly threw himself on the couch when the door closed again. They were all inside at least, but the evidence still danced on their palms. Mikasa offered to wash his clothes and Eren insisted on a shower.

Armin plopped down on the sofa, eyes blown wide with adreneline. He turned his head to Mikasa, a smile overtaking his lips.

"That was so exciting!"

Eren turned the knob in the shower stall, stepping inside before it could warm up. He scrubbed furiously at his arms and torso, fingers lightly touching the brown smudge across his forehead.

Soon, the water was scorching hot and Eren's body was flushed pink. Rinsing the last of the conditionor out of his hair, he wrapped a towel around his waist and left for his bedroom. This time it was sweatpants and an old T-shirt that said '#1 Grandma'.

He felt both refreshed and exhausted when he came into the livingroom, Armin and Mikasa caught up in a movie preview. He settled between them naturally, arms draped over the back of the couch.

He propped his heels on the coffee table, oblivious to Mikasa's disapproving glare.

The rest of the day passed in a blurr and as soon as Armin left to go home, he had slipped into another restless sleep. Everything was clear again. Green cloaks, roses, horses, and wings. The giant walls that reached so high, he figured it had taken centuries to build them.

There was also a strange gas that fueled some kind of gear that felt familiarly heavy at his sides, eyelashes fluttering as he was lifted from the ground and carried through the wind outside the walls. The monsters were so close, fingers reaching out to catch the back of his cloak but he had spun last second.

He landed into another palm and was brought to a pair of yellowing teeth. He tried to wrestle free but the grip was too tight and he swore he could hear his bones crackle all at once.

He woke up slowly this time, visions of being swallowed still flashing right before his eyes when they opened. He groaned audibly, somehow disturbed by the chirping birds that reached through his open apartment window.

He tossed himself over on his back, the sweet aroma of blueberry waffles reaching his nose. He sighed contently, using his forearms to lift himself up. He wobbled towards the scent, nearly colliding with Mikasa who held a plate stacked with dotted waffles.

He blinked sleepily at her and took the plate when he was offered it, using the fork to cut a need triangle. He shoveled a few pieces in his mouth, tastebuds in pure bliss as he disappeared back in his room.

He could practically feel Mikasa roll her eyes in amusment at his exhausted limp.

Eren had taken his time waking up, grogginess fogging his thoughts as he pulled his basketball shorts over his fresh pair of neon green boxers. Socks went on next and he enthusiastically wiggled his toes when he was properly dressed.

He picked up his abandoned plate from breakfast and went to wash it in the kitchen. He scrubbed at the syrup before slipping it into the dishwasher, spinning on his heel to lean against the kitchen counter.

The birds were still making an obnoxious amount of noise, he noticed, tapping his fingers. Hr tilted his head back to stare at the blank ceiling. Eren's creative fingers were itching to cover the entire space but this was his home and there was no way in hell Mikasa would ever let him do that.

He picked himself up and went into the laundry room. Like promised, his cltohes were washed and read for wearing. Including his bandana, huh. He pulled everything together relatively quickly, duffel still containing various stencils and spraycans. He left the apartment with light feet, shoes barely scuffing the stairs as he traveled down.

He fumbled for his sketch book and flipped through his nightly drawings. After deciding on one, he picked out a place to work. The city was big, he knew that, but dozens of street artists were scattered throughout the city.

He stopped at a once clean slate, nearly dropping his bag in rage and awe at the artwork that took it over. It was all dark swirls and thin streaks, resembling tentacles that melted into sea blue. He raised a hand to touch it, jerking back when he realized the paint was still wet. He looked around to find out who it was when a thinly traced siganture caught his attention.

In strikingly dark letters spelled, 'The Corporal.'

He wiped his blackened palm onto his sweatshirt, breaths coming in hot and excited puffs. His eyes were flickering, taking in every detail and every brushstroke. Yeah, he could definately believe this guy used a paintbrush.

He went home that day without tagging or painting a thing, too caught off guard. The drying paint was still fresh in his nostrils and he promptly skipped dinner to work on a new sketch.

He plopped down at his desk, searching his drawers for a pen when he instead found a pencil. He went to work drawing out a sillouette of one of the creatures in his dream- the one he had become.

His head was bent forward, neck exposed and flesh rippling upwards. His slanted teeth traced just below his jaw, emerald eyes glowing through curtains of dark hair. He ended the sketch just below his shoulder, eager to get in the muscle that seemed to define the entire thing all too well.

It was his best work yet.


	3. Clear blue eyes and golden hair

Today day was especially cold. His bones ached from the chill and his feet were left feeling heavy. He tied on his bandana and paired it with a nifty black scarf. A nice, warm winter coat followed. It was a rich brown, the end of the coat going a few inches past his waist.

A pair of white-washed jeans and boots that covered half of his calf collectively finished up his outfit. He tiredly rubbed his eyes, breakfast forgotten as he grabbed his bag and dashed out of the house. He skipped two steps at a time today, nearly slipping up with the fresh coat of frost layering each step.

He walked fast down the street, taking several turns and happily shortening the whole walk 10 minutes with how fast he was going. He slipped with ease under the highway bridge, cars zooming past but never stopping as he began unpacking. It was roughly 4 in the morning, sky still dark and tinged purple. Eren's face remained unseen in the shadows as he began his latest creation.

He made the eyes glow with metallic green paint, lightly brushing teal around the edges to match his own gaze. The hair came next, filled in entirely with a dark brown that could easily be mistaken as black. As soon as he got the details down for the muscles and shoulders, his phone rang and echoed off of the walls.

He answered it without checking the caller ID, humming happily with another sweep of dark paint.

"Eren?"

"Hm?"

"Annie called in sick today, we're gonna need you to fill in her shift. Erwins tight on employee's and I don't think Petra can take any more of the stress." He sighed when he recognized Hanji's overwhelmingly expression tone, expression faltering when she continued, "We're gonna need you in as soon as possible." And that means this was going to have to go unfinished for another 6 hours.

With a groan, he said he'd be there and hung up. He cursed and nearly tossed a can, instead stuffing it into his bag along with various other supplies. He jogged to work, bandana tucked away in his pocket and sleeves stained with browns and blacks. He shouldered open the door and was greeted with a few relieved sighs. He stripped of his jacket and scarf, heading to the back room to hang them up and tie on his apron.

He clocked in and did a double take of the schedules, just to make sure he hadn't been lied too. He stepped up to the cashier counter, giving Petra a swift pat on the back. She deflated on the spot, shoulders slumped as she left the counter to go to the back room and check out for the time being. He kept his elbows on the counter, ankles crossed as he stared idly at the moniter that sat neatly beside him and the cash register.

The first dozen customers came and go, but one of them caught his eye. He was short- 5' 3", he estimated, but with enough muscle mass to appear at least 20 years old. His eyes were unervingly cold and he practically threw his chosen items on the counter. Spraycans, foam boards, paint brushes, acrylic paint, cement paint, glass paint, plastic containers, white bandana's, 2 packages of gloves, and a whole 23 mini bottles of hand sanitizer. Eren blinked, suspecting nothing and everything at once before ringing up his order.

"That'll be $156.67," He chirped. He was handed a moderately small wad of cash and Eren counted it accordingly. He handed him one of the twenties and 3 cents back, bidding him a quiet forwell as he vanished out the door. Eren got blurrily distracted by the stocky old man just after one appearence and he caught himself wishing he'd return more than once for at least another bottle of hand sanitizer.

The rest of his shift was uneventful and Eren only had to stock up on Milkyways. His eyes stayed glued to the monitor the majority of the time, fingers tapping on the countertop until the clock struck his leavin hour.

He rushed to the back room to leave, bunding up again and tying on his bandana and keeping his duffel over his shoulder. He practically jogged back to the highway, steps heavy and the cold air leaving his eyes uncomfortably red. His bag dropped to the ground with a clatter when he found it alreayd finished.

Darker, thinner lines extended from the torn flesh and into a tiny human figure emerging from several slickened tendons of raw muscle. Whisps of silver steam flicked over it, as if the wounds themselves were slowly dissolving. It felt familiar. He touched the paint- still wet, just like before, and heard footsteps from behind.

He spun around on his heel, eyes wide before he took in the person before him. The guy. The guy from the store. He had on a white bandana, grey headphones around his neck blasting some kind of metallica. The cord hung low to the pocket of his sagged grey jeans, slim fingers still wrapped around a thin paintbrush dripping red. Eren's eyes drifted to the other supplies on the opposite wall and he got choked up on words.

_"You're_ the Corporal?"

His light laugh carried through the air, unimpressed and more cold than anything Eren had ever heard.

"Of course I am, dipshit. The rest of the work yours?"

"Yes! And I was going to finish it too and you fucking ruined-"

"_Answered_, kid. I answered your piece." Eren frowned deeply, displeased with his wording as he stomped forward and pressed an accusing finger to The Corporal's chest.

"I wasn't done yet. I-I was called off for work, it was almost finished and you go ahead and just..!" He looked at their collaboration again, words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them, "-_made it better_! Your linework is amazing, I can't believe you even painted something so surreal. It's even more realistic than my dreams-"

"Wait, _dreams_?"

_Fuck._

Eren blinked hugely at him and then picked up his bag, already darting off without sparing a single goodbye. He could feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and when he turned a corner the feeling wasn't gone. He returned to his apartment breathing in labored breaths, automatically dumping his bag by the couch and disappearing into his bedroom.

He burrowed under the sheets, mumbling profanities until his jaw ached. He drifted off no less than an hour later, nightmare's sparked anew. There was a girl with clear blue eyes and golden hair. Her fighting stance was impeccable, shoulders hunched and fists up. Her appearence flickered into something more frightening- one of those beasts. Eventually she was torn to shreds, missing several limbs and bleeding out over cracked concrete.

Blood flooded past his lips and got in between his teeth as he bit down and he saw the girl again, tears streaming down her face. Suddenly he couldn't reach her. She was encased in crystal, eyes shut calmly and arms draped over her knees. Eren wanted so badly to reach out and brush his fingers along the encasing, to apologize over and over until she opened her eyes and let him in, into her arms.

He imagined she was_ warm_, even with open wounds and wet eyes. Her fingers would curl in the back of his jacket and they would stay like that for hours because nobody understood what it was like being taken over. They didn't know how murderous the intentions were, how careless he had been and he hadn't even cared if he had died the fight was too intense all he could see was red.

She would understand everything, he believed. But then a blade drove through melting flesh and he was in the arms of his savior, with dark grey eyes and dark hair. His eyes opened drowsily, blanket still over his head as he whispered his name with a familiar pleasure.

_"Levi."_


	4. Titan Shifter

The only thing that really scared Eren was reality. He prefered life within his dreams, where he was able to prove his worth and show off his determination tenfold. He hated giving in because that showed signs of vulnerability and weakness and all Eren needed to fight his fear was reassurance. He hated being unable to fight for himself, words flying past his lips and leaving bitter remaints of what could have been.

His knuckles would be left bruised and bloody from careless punches, lip tucked between his teeth as he stiffled the tears that threatened to fall. It was fear that made him this way, wishing and wanting. Shoulders slumped and trembling, the world would spin uncontrollably and leave him wanting to vomit and weep.

Then he'd wake up. The day would drag on with minimal inspiration and Eren hadn't seen Levi past those two encounters. The acrylics stuck to his fingers in the most undeserving way and the spraypaint can felt real in his hands. The stensils were stained ugly browns and blues, now tinted a vicious red as he resumed damaging goverment property.

This time it was a familiar face, Armin, globs of blood running past his eyes. His head was tilted back, golden hair bobbed upward just across his shoulders. The leaking trail of red just barely past his lips, thin and childlike. His eyelashes glittered with tears and Eren smeared his thumb over the concrete to further concentrate lines and give his painting a furiousity he had trouble identifying.

He signed off his name- Titan shifter, and hurried off to work. He stripped of his bandana and pushed open the door. The back room was empty today, Annie being the only person on shift. She was busy restocking supplies, expression stone cold like you wouldn't believe. Coat hung up, he clocked in and stood behind the counter. he kept his posture straight, stricken when he got a once over on Annie's face again.

_Warm._

She glanced at him with her eyebrows raised, clearly annoyed that she had caught him staring. The silver glint in her eye left Eren uncomfortable and strangely at home. He cleared his throat unconvincingly and hung his head to avoid her, jolting a little when the door opened and the bell above the frame was jostled.

The customer- No, Levi- walked right up to the counter with a candy bar in hand. His lips were thinly drawn together, pale and lifeless like the rest of him. His dark hair was contrasting against his skin today, bags painting his skin just below his eyes to make him further intimidating. The tone of his voice startled eren to dropping the spare change he was about to hand over.

"_Titan Shifter_."

The change landed on the counter with a counter, loud enough that even Annie looked up. He was frozen, jaw slock and turquious eyes wide in disbelief. He tried uttering words but they failed him pathetically enough. He thought he had seen a flash of sympathy in those dark eyes and he was suddenly drowning in memories. His voice broke through the silence again and Eren felt his hand tremor. And as if on instinct, he addressed him.

"Corporal, sir."

"It's just Levi."

"...Right." He was getting choked up, he knew it, gut twisting in impossible ways. He was instantly yearning for those familiar thin fingers fitted between his, sharing body heat and secrets, whispers unheard through the stone halls outside the wall. Lance Corporal, Rivaille, Captain, his dreams said so much.

"Well?"

"O-Oh! Eren, Eren Jaeger."

"I didn't ask for your last name."

Levi seemed startled by Eren's warm smile.

"I know."

He seemed skeptical with Eren's response, but brushed it off with an aggrivated sigh.

"My change?"

"Oh, right!"

He quickly gathered the coins scattered on the counter, counting out the quarters and pennies before dumping them in Levi's palm. He was bid a quick farewell and then he was gone again, away from Eren. He was missing him already, terribly so, his work shift ending almost as soon as it had started. Getting home was a chore, crisp afternoon air reminding him it was still winter.

He laid out across his bed, gone undisturbed by Mikasa even when she returned home. His pillow was too stiff against his cheek, but he learned to cope. Wrapping himself up in warmth was the most he could do right now, mind fresh out of ideas for the time being and far to lazy to even try and tag a building.

He spent the next two hours on his phone, chatting it up with Armin and insulting the shit out of Jean. He got a particular text that made his lips break into a grin.

_Did you paint me?_

_yeah. did you see it?_

_Why's their so much blood?_

_I dont know, its how I pictured it in the dream. I tried changing it up but it just didnt look quite the same._

_Oh. Well, it's nice anyways._

_thanks._

Eren felt his fingers tingle from the recognition, even if it was from someone he knew well. The conversation lost topic after that and Eren's eyes stung from staring at the screen so long. He flipped over onto his back and was already missing sleep, no matter how much he did it.

Instead he drifted into lost thought, catching himself trying to define every detail that made up him. His features were so soft, he realized, his skin even more so. He fell asleep to the sound of creaking floorboards and the whistling breeze, Levi's face pleaguing his mind in the worst and best ways.


	5. Blissfully Brilliant

It was three weeks before Eren saw Levi again. He was kneeling carefully on a patch of grass, painting carefully on a wall of white. His strokes were even and oddly beautiful and it took a sharp glance from him to notice he was staring. He jerked his head back, jaw slack as he stumbled back a few steps and darted back towards home.

Mikasa had made steak for dinner, the spices dancing deliciously on his tongue. He sat with her on the couch, watching an old sitcom until somewhere around two in the morning. Mikasa followed Eren to his room, brow creased with worry as she held up one of his notebooks.

"Your drawings are getting pretty violent, Eren." Yes, yes they were, because all he could see was an imperfect world pleagued with death and depression. A whole other life Eren wanted but couldn't have because it was surely just his dreams. He wanted to love someone back in those times, his captain.

He swallowed down these bitter words and just smiled apologetically towards his adoptive sister.

"Sorry, I guess my imagination runs a little morbid." She eyed him for a second longer before leaving, setting his notebook on his desk. He got up to flip through the pages, eyes following every line and detail. His gaze fell on a sketch of an emblem of a set of wings, with a backset of a silver sheild that radiated courage and devastation. He licked his lips and left around three. It was still night, where criminals roamed the city streets and idiots like Eren thought taking a midnight walk would be a _blissfully_ brilliant idea.

He wasn't really thinking. Maybe it was the splattered paint on the concrete, or the police sirens that were deafening in his ears. His feet were moving but not of his own will, hands were on his forearms and his face was shoved against a brick wall. He spit red onto the ground, writhing hopelessly and they gave his arms and twist and a tug.

His scream was piercing and the spreading pain was enough for him to know they had either dislocated or broken something. Pressed against his back was something solid and thin. Blood dribbled down his chin and his worthlessness was shining through pathetically. His legs were trapped- feet were pressed to the back of his ankles.

His knees buckled when a knee jerked against his calves and he bowed his head against the asphalt. Someone was saying words, words Eren couldn't hear, then suddenly his pockets were empty and his bandana was gone. His heaving gasps were nothing compared to his trembling arms and it felt like hours before he could move again.

Reality felt distant right now, foriegn to watering teal eyes. He used to the wall to support himself, oblivious to why his throat was burning and why it was hard to breathe.

_He was screaming._


	6. Coma

The black dots lining his vision were getting larger, and tripping over his own feet seemed more than just a side effect. He tripped again, shoelaces tangling together and he managed to black out before he hit the ground. His attention span was flickering in his unconscious state, remembering white, red, then nothing.

Reality betrayed him and for the longest time all he felt was pain. Mikasa's voice was his only comfort, Armin's his only salvation. A rushed unfamiliar voice made his stomach coil, something about 'head trauma', 'the concrete' and he might be mistaken, but the word 'Coma'. Pitch darkness was all he was aware of.

_He was scared._

Falling into a pair of arms is what he least expected, trapped in his lucid state. His mind drew a blank, a concerned voice reaching his ringing ears. It was drowned out by more shouting. Too much was going on, his squad was all around him in a formation Eren didn't recall ever learning. Below him were large reaching hands, fingertips just barely missing his flailing feet.

Panic took hold and he shot out of the arms craddling him comfortingly so. His fingers pressed triggers, body lurching forward through crowds of gigantic trees. The weight of the disposable blades kept him on balance, every noise was so familiar, and Eren felt like he /belonged/.

He felt like that was it, really. He was finally home, avenging his mothers death and upholding the promise of eliminating every titan he could dig his blades into. Unfortunately, he was wrong. Insanity tore him away from his normal everyday duties. He swore every moment he was alone, he could hear Mikasa's voice begging him to wake up, and Armin's whispers of hope.

_It made it hurt to think._

Missions got progressively more dangerous, there were too many close calls, death was calling his name and all he did was ignore it. These weren't signs, he thought. Just coincidences that resulted in mere flesh wounds that would evaporate into clouds of steam like hot ocean mist. This mission though, was different.

His movement was off, his cuts were never deep enough, tears pricked his eyes as the number of his comrades lessened more and more. His self-steem plummeted, just like he was now. The wind was shrieking in his ears, his heart was beating right out of his chest and the handles of his blades fell from his hands. He could feel moist breath waft across his back, making his clothes stick to his skin. These would be his final moments.

He would fall right into open jaws-No, a hard surface would hit his back instead, igniting tremors of pain. The air was thick and smouldering every time he took a breath. Fingers, slim and smooth linked with his and everything flooded into focus. White walls, red bandages, stiff joints, a heavy migrain accompanied with an ear-splitting beep every few seconds.

The hand squeezing his was Mikasa's, her face brooding at the corner of his vision. Her downcast grey eyes suddenly sparked to life when she heard his quiet rustling. She looked about ready to cry, other hand reaching out to cup his cheek.

"Eren." He realized she sounded so broken over /him/, which only worsened the guilty pang melted into his chest. He hummed in response, lolling his head to the side to get a better look at her. That was a poor move on his part, his muscles aching upon movement and the tears now falling down Mikasa's cheeks giving him more of a reason to feel like shit.

"...How long was I-" Sobs worked her way up her throat before he could finish and she was scrabbling forward to hold Eren. He wrapped his working arm around her, thumb rubbing calm circles into her shoulder.

"A month."

"What?"

"You were in a coma, Eren. For a month. Some shady guy brought you to the hospital- grey eyes, couldn't be taller than 5 feet and he said he /knew/ you. What kind of friends have you been making? How did you get all these other injuries- Eren, what /happened/?"

He didn't really know, at this point. He pressed his forehead to Mikasa's shoulder, head swimming with images and memories that weren't even real. It was all a hoax, some demented bullshit forced upon him and driving him crazy. He shrugged instead of answered, yelping when she shifted his stiff arm. She apolologized softly, fingers gingerly brushing the long lashing bruise that covered a majority of his forearm.

"When can I go home?"

"A few days."

_That was Eren's only relief._


	7. Not normal

Levi woke up groggily, the clock mounted on his wall presenting an astounding '2:45 am'. He left his bed without missing a beat and decidedly rewarded himself with a blisteringly hot shower. The steam cleared his senses and the water successfully loosened up his sore muscles.

The towel sitting staionary on his hips, he dragged his feet across the freshly vacuumed carpet to his closet. After a bit of self argument, he dressed in a pair of formal fitting pants and a grey t-shirt that dipped below his collarbone surprisingly well.

Breakfast was an everyday occurence of course, something like buttered toast and cup of unsweetened coffee. He left after brushing his teeth and slipping on a pair of bleached converse and a green sweatshirt with a sagging hood.

The walk was calming to some extent, the sky tinged greys and blues reminded him of his own eyes. He let out a hot breath, undisturbed by the normal waking city sounds.

The blood curdling scream was not expected, followed by awkward shuffling, crackling, then two hooded teens rushing out of the alleyway right past Levi's vision. He was hit with a wave of nostalgia as a battered boy staggered out too, bleeding from his lips and nose. His arm was bent in a horribly awkward way and his jean pockets were tugged inside-out.

Levi scoffed lamely, only concerned when he- No, it was /Eren/, he knew that mop of brown hair anywhere- collided into the ground. Gore painted the sidewalk almost immediately and Levi felt his heart turn to stone. He rushed to what he assumed was now a corpse and dragged him up by the back of his shirt.

His expression honestly shocked Levi. He looked serene and calm, torn lips slightly parted and cheeks dusted with pink that could just be his skin tainted with blood. He wrapped an arm around his midsection, other hand diving into his pocket to find his phone. He dialed 911, voice calm as he spoke of his concern.

It was 15 minutes of sheer terror and shock until the sirens were the only things he could hear. They carried him off on a stretcher, gloved fingers checking his wounds. Eren hadn't even flinched when they jostled one of his dislocated joints back into place.

_Was he dead?_

Apparently so, since Levi hadn't caught wind of the brat or his art in the city for days. Days stretched into weeks and blank walls seemed lonely without Eren's paint rather than his own. He cursed himself for being worried in the first place, filling the unmistakble void in his chest with measured strokes of his angled brush. The city was covered in his tendrils of black smoke and visions of Eren's face before Levi presumed him dead.

It could be considered pathetic if your first reaction wasn't one of sympathy. He was hung up on someone he barely knew, but emtions melted into curiousity and Levi did what he normally did best- forgot.

Eren had taken more of a liking to his old life, back when it wasn't real at all, just the side effects to knocking your head against some asphalt. He bought canvases by the dozen, set up stands and hung up old sketches. He painted the landscape he had first seen, with mountainous trees that could touch the sun. He drew detailed figures of him and his squad, postures hunched and cords latched onto branches and trunks.

He used pastels to smear bits of white over foreshadowed faces and carelessly sketched leaves. This one painted was followed by many others, stacks upon stacks filled his room and it was safe to say this was an obsession.

Mikasa walked in on him wearing a striped yellow and red t-shirt, a pair of overalls, and several bobbypins holding back his bangs. He smiled sheepishly at her as she walked over to him, pinching his chocolately strands between her fingers.

"You need a haircut," She crooned, nudging him to face her so she could fix up his hair with nimble fingers. She narrowed down the amount of bobbypins in his hair to three. He thanked her promptly after smudging a spot of grey paint on her nose.

She flinched back, the scooped a dollop of purple paint onto her finger and dragged it down his cheek. This became a fullblown 'paint fight' and Mikasa was definately winning, with her catlike reflexes and Eren's clumsy behavior. They both ended up sitting at the foot of his bed, knees bent up to avoid hitting the dresser, paint on eachother's clothes and in their hair.

With a small laugh, Mikasa rose to her feet and directed herself to a stack of Eren's most recent paintings. She flipped through the images, happiness faltering.

"Eren," She choked, picking up the last painting in the stack. She held it up to contrast against the light, smile falling. "Oh my god." It was him, of course, between two rows of teeth and arm outstretched. Blood covered half of his face, one leg missing and teal eyes wide with terror.

Eren politely cleared his throat and coaxed the painting out of her hands. She spun to face him, shaking her head and gathering painting in her arms.

"Mikasa, what are you-"

"You need help."

"What?"

"This isn't normal, Eren. You need help." He wanted to say, 'I'm not crazy', 'They're just paintings', or maybe, 'But it's all /real/.' But no, his lips were forming different words and syllables.


	8. Commander

Chapter Text

It's true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder because all Eren can see is grace in the way he moves his brush, Mikasa's horrified glances blind in his vision. Eren might be thinking this is normal, the countless nightmares that run him through and through and leave him writhing hopelessly against his smothering sheets. He isn't, though. He's aware how far he's stretched and that he's treading a dangerous path that's leading to his downfall.

He doesn't want to know this because it elicits a new anxiety deep within him, leaves him to be a skeleton of what he once was and this is exactly what he tells his therepist.

Eren had begun going to hour long therapy sessions every three days. It was better than being admitted to a psych ward, but no less bothersome. Eren was never crazy about the idea of spilling all of his secrets to a complete stranger, but Mikasa insisted it would do wonders. The first thing he noticed about the lounge was that everything smelled vaguely of Tylenol. The occupants all had their noses buried in magazines, and the floor with littered with Legos that two kiddies in the corner had unceremoniously thrown about.

He sunk into one of the chairs after checking in, passing the time by timing his fingers noisily onto the wooden chair arm. His gut twisted with anxiety 15 minutes later when the door opened and a man peeked his head out. A gasp lodged itself in Eren's throat when he realized who it was- Erwin Smith. His eyes fell on Eren and a charming smile tugged his lips.

"Eren Jaeger?" His voice was softer, he noted, stumbling to his feet when he motioned smoothly with his hand to join him in the hallway. He rushed towards him, ears deaf to his introduction. "I'm Erwin Smith. It says here your sister had-"

"Commander-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Eren felt his heart drop and he put up an apologetic smile.

"Nothing. I'm sorry." Erwin spared a moment of curious staring before leading Eren down the hall. They got in his office, blinds drawn and floor transitioning to wood. It smelled fresher in there, like lilacs and honey. Eren gave a strong whiff before sitting down, sitting patiently as Erwin did a once-over on his notes.

The first half hour of the rest of Eren's life is filled with tense silence. When Eren finally speaks, he sounds too desperate to be calm and his lips are trembling when Erwin gives him a bewildered expression.

"I shouldn't be here, I'll just ruin you too."

Weeks pass and Mikasa notices the gently serenity that has settled over Eren's features. His paintings have dulled down to just scenery and she considers this progress. She's wrong, though. She's been wrong this whole time because Erwin always asks Eren to paint for him. He does, of course. His fingers were stiff at first as he smeared metallic paints over seas of blues and greens.

Erwin looked more fascinated with each passing piece and has even encouraged Eren to hang them up on his office walls. He feels rewarded like this, grin overtaking his lips and fingers curled over the edge of his desk.

Erwin is glaring over his notes, blue eyes soft. Eren cards this image away in his mind to paint later, only know realizing what an inspiration Ewrin was. They discuss what they've been over so far and he asks about Eren's street art. He hasn't tagged anything in weeks, too busy painting and dreaming, but he doesn't seemed concerned.

Instead he tilts back in his chair, sets his notepad down. His ankles are crossed and Eren catches a glimpse of ankle garters. He's still smiling, proven if he had a tail he would be wagging it. He taps his fingers on the desk, eyes still studying Eren.

"Eren,"

He waits. He waits so long because the pause Erwin makes is excruciating and his head feels fit to explode.

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"


End file.
